


Pulling Left

by Silential



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Love, not really Hux/Phasma because that would imply they were together, onesided Hux/Phasma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silential/pseuds/Silential
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phasma is not a coward. She doesn't shirk from pain. She's not about to start now. </p><p>One should never have feelings for one's commanding officer. They are rarely ever returned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Left

The ice clinks against the walls of his glass. Amber liquid swirls steadily within it, warm and honey-colored against the black of his gloves. He grips the glass more tightly than his calm demeanor would suggest. 

Phasma has never been a coward. She does not shirk from pain. She will not start now. 

Her eyes rise to meet his own. 

He shifts uncomfortably in the armchair, head tilted to better look up at her. His mouth opens, and closes again; she has never seen her General at a loss for words. How fitting, and horribly ironic, she thinks, to have been the first to earn the honor. She had driven him speechless in the privacy of her own thoughts, the few times she permitted herself the indiscretion that surely was below her. But then it was sharp breaths and swallowed sighs, full lips parting in ragged breaths at her throat –

Not this. 

“Your service has been exemplary. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you, Captain,” Hux manages finally, tone as stiff as the starched lines of his uniform. His features are carefully blank, scrubbed of any inkling of his thoughts – was he angry with her? 

Or worse yet, disgusted? 

Her lungs seem to have forgotten how to operate. They’re too accustomed to her helmet’s respirator is all, she thinks. 

When she doesn’t respond, the façade cracks, just the faintest bit, and he tries, “Please tell me you know that’s true.” 

“I do.” The words scrape from her throat, grinding through what Phasma refuses to accept are unshed tears. Weeping did not befit an officer of the Order, despite the fissures splintering through the heart she hadn’t known she’d even had before him. 

“Good, good.” He uncrosses his legs, rising to his feet as his gaze drops from hers. He speaks softly, more to his drink than to her. “But I think it best if we… let it remain at that.” 

Her nod is sharp, the words ricocheting in her brain like a blaster shot. “Of course, sir.” 

“Right then. Goodnight, Phasma." 

Without thinking, she steps aside and allows him to pass, officers lounge door sliding open at his command. She is given one last look at the lines of his back, straight and proud, before it smoothly returns into place. 

Her quarters are not far. It will take exactly three minutes to reach them and obtain her blaster, and another four to walk to the firing range. Her aim has been pulling left as of late, and that is not acceptable, she thinks. 

Phasma has never been a coward. She will not start now.


End file.
